The air still seemed to tremble where Luther had appeared. The glass walls carried faint remnants of warped light, like ripples frozen mid-motion. No one spoke. No one moved.
Thor, who never understood the weight of silence, leaned forward in his chair, his booming voice slicing through the tension.
"Magician!" he declared, as if calling out an adversary. "Can you send me back to Asgard? In return, you would have my gratitude."
Luther turned his head slowly, the glance heavier than any weapon raised in anger.
"I am no magician," he said evenly, his tone calm, almost detached. "What I use is pure science."
Dr. Selvig cleared his throat, his voice unsteady. "That… looked like space folding. Was it some form of spatial compression?"
Luther studied him for a moment, as though deciding if it was worth replying.
"It's not compression," he said at last, his boots clicking against the polished floor as he moved forward. His stride was direct, aimed toward Freya, though his eyes remained on Selvig. "It is displacement—And expansion, so there is always enough space for me to arrive."
His explanation ended as he stopped before Freya.
Natasha's eyes narrowed, her hand twitching subtly closer to her holster, though she kept her weapon stowed. A bead of sweat slid down her temple, but her voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"Why are you here?"
"To stop my little assistant from dying in someone else's fight," he answered softly, his voice carrying unnatural clarity across the room. "And to judge whether Thor is ready to compensate… or if he's ready to die."
The words lingered, deliberately ambiguous, as his gaze dropped briefly toward Freya.
Thor's brow furrowed, his voice breaking the silence before anyone else could.
"Magician or scientist, whatever you call yourself," he shouted, "don't think you can fool me! The price you demand is too high for your foolish machine!"
Luther's eyes flicked to him. "You can give me those resources, or I'll take them from Asgard myself. Of course, if I step into Asgard, I might take everything instead of just a few supplies."
Before Thor could retort, Lily's voice slid into the silence like a knife wrapped in silk.
"Relax, big guy," she said with a crooked grin, stepping lightly forward. "You probably don't know, but Tony Stark's been refusing compensation for month's —and guess what? He's still alive, still drinking, still having the time of his life."
Her gaze shifted from Thor back to Luther, mischief glinting in her words.
"And you need to change your lines. it's getting too boring; instead, you could do something simple. Like… cut off one of his hands and send it to his father and ask him to give you resources." She gave a playful shrug, as though the suggestion were nothing more than a party game. "Instead of giving empty threats."
Thor slammed his fists against the table, the impact rattling glass and steel. The veins in his neck bulged as he roared, "You dare threaten the Prince of Asgard?"
The thunder of his outburst shook the room. Even hardened agents flinched at the fury in his voice.
"Don't think I won't strike you just because you're a little girl!" Thor bellowed, rising to his feet as his chair screeched backward. Agents' hands twitched toward their weapons, but no one dared move first.
Lily sprang forward, landing squarely in front of him. The servos in her armor hummed low, joints whispering with mechanical strength. Her grin was lopsided, almost childish, but her eyes gleamed sharp as glass.
"Thor, Thor, Thor," she sang, tilting her head. "All this shouting and stomping. Honestly, if you weren't so loud, I'd think you were a toddler throwing a tantrum."
Thor lunged, fist swinging. But Lily was faster—her gauntlet shot up, catching his wrist mid-swing with a sharp metallic snap. For an instant, the room froze: Thor straining with godly might, Lily holding him with effortless precision. Her grin widened as the servos hummed, preparing for the next move.
In a swift twist, she redirected his momentum and slammed his arm down onto the table. The frame groaned and bent under the force.
Thor staggered, his breath ripped from him. He tried to rise, but Lily pressed in close, pivoting with hydraulic precision to drive him hard into the wall.
The plaster cracked, dust raining down.
"Shhh." Her vox carried the whisper into every ear. She raised her armored fist, then drove it sharply into the side of his neck. Not enough to kill, but enough to overload his nervous system.
Thor's eyes rolled back as his body slumped. The God of Thunder crashed to the floor unconscious.
For a moment, the room was silent.
Not shock—at least not entirely. They had all seen fights before. But there was something disturbing in the ease, the way Lily dismantled him as though it were nothing.
One agent shifted uneasily, muttering, "Is he really a God?"
Selvig exhaled slowly, adjusting his glasses, his mind already racing to analyze her armor.
Natasha's hand twitched near her sidearm, but her voice remained cool and dry. "Not bad," she remarked, her eyes narrowing with a cautious appraisal.
Freya hadn't moved at all. She simply watched Lily with the faintest curl of a smile, recognizing the fight as a performance more than a battle.
Luther gave a faint nod, as though none of this surprised him. "The only question left is whether you can defeat him again once he regains his power," he said softly, his tone clinical.
Lily nudged Thor's body with the tip of her boot, her grin still crooked. "That's your problem, not mine. I only did what you asked."
Luther's gaze lingered on her, then swept across the others. His voice was calm, but its weight was undeniable.
"You're right. It is my problem," he said. "As for Thor, he won't have the time for revenge—he is going to be too busy trying to survive."
He paused, letting the words settle, his voice cold and certain.
"And even if by some chance he did have the time, I still have ways to handle him."
Saying this His eyes turned toward Natasha. "So… do you have any spare rooms? I plan to stay until tomorrow."
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